


decidedly dad-like behaviour

by RandomRuth



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (not so subtle Peter Parker & Thor), Blankets, Dad!Tony, Gen, I'm just going to continue this on a bit, Increasingly Suspicious James Rhodes, Irondad, Peter is such a Thor fanboy, Rhodey swears a bit, Sick Peter Parker, Sick Rhodey, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is in denial but Rhodey knows what's what, and even more tooth-rotting fluff, featuring: Vines, now with added sequel!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomRuth/pseuds/RandomRuth
Summary: “Something came up,” Tony says. “I had to make a detour on my way to our lunch meeting. I’m sorry you’re gonna miss those bacon sandwiches you like but…” Tony trails off and jerks his thumb, indicating the back seat.Rhodey twists around and jumps. “Holy shit,” he says, just shy of shouting it.(In which Tony is late for lunch with Rhodey and there's a good reason for it.)(A one-shot that has turned into a one-shot series.)





	1. compound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Author_Incognito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_Incognito/gifts).



> This first chapter is based upon a post by stark-tony on Tumblr. Go and check them out! I'm so happy to finally posting a fic after so long! Irondad has stolen my heart.

It’s cold. He rubs his hands together, envies the couple at a table nearby with the hot coffees and a chocolate Lab at their feet. Rhodey has been waiting outside the café for twenty minutes when Tony’s silver Audi finally pulls up. He waves to the driver — Tony in orange-tinted shades — and is surprised when Tony doesn’t switch off the engine and get out. Instead the passenger door window slides down.   
  
“Hey, To — ” Rhodey begins to say, but he’s cut off by a quiet hiss from Tony. Tony reaches across to push the door open.    
  
“Change of plans,” he says quietly — so quietly Rhodey strains to hear him over the murmur of conversation from the café’s patrons. “Get in the car.”   
  
Frowning, Rhodey does as he’s told. His mind is jumping to all sorts of conclusions. Is there a fight? Against aliens or General Ross? Rhodey weighs up the pros and cons and hopes it’s aliens.   
  
“Tony, what is going on?” he asks, buckling his seat belt as Tony pushes the button to roll up the window. The warm air in the car is blissful after so long spent outside. He’s aware that people are starting to stare at them, but he’d assumed that in the privacy of the car he would be allowed to speak normally but Tony shushes him. “What is going on?” he repeats, lowering his volume. “We’re supposed to meet for lunch and then you’re twenty minutes late and acting weird and I’m used to a lot of crap, man, but what is this? This is not your usual brand of weird.”   
  
Tony pulls out into traffic — Rhodey expects the roar of a powerful engine thanks to Tony’s heavy right foot — but no, he drives slow and steady like a grandma. “Dude,” is all Rhodey has to say about that.    
  
“Something came up,” Tony says softly. “I had to make a detour on my way to our lunch meeting. I’m sorry you’re gonna miss those bacon sandwiches you like but…” Tony trails off and jerks his thumb, indicating the back seat.   
  
Rhodey twists around and jumps. “Holy shit,” he says, just shy of shouting it.   
  
It’s that intern of Tony’s — Peter Parker if Rhodey’s memory serves. He’s fast asleep in the back seat, wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito with only his head visible. There’s a sickly hue to his skin. The blanket has some sort of pattern on it and it takes Rhodey a moment too long to see what it is; a cartoon of Thor and lightning trails repeated over and over. The intern’s breathing through his mouth, a damp patch of drool darkening the fabric of the blanket next to his chin.   
  
“Tony, what the hell? Why is your sick intern in your car?”   
  
“His school called his aunt who’s busy at work so she called me. Nobody’s home at their apartment so I’m gonna take care of him at the compound until he’s feeling better. It’s a chain of responsibility thing we’ve got going.” He says this like it’s normal for someone to be this involved in their intern’s life. He glances in the rear view mirror and a worried frown appears on his face. 

“So you’re, what, his dad for the day?”

Tony scoffs. “Please, you know I’m not cut out to be anyone’s dad,” he says, adjusting the car’s air conditioning between sixty-eight and sixty-nine degrees. He hums to himself, dissatisfied, twists the dial again. Seventy degrees. He glances in the rear view mirror at the intern, asks Rhodey, “What do you think?”

Rhodey just raises an eyebrow — his patented  _ Tony, you’re being ridiculous _ look (he’s had _a lot_ of practise with it over the years). Tony rolls his eyes and sets the air conditioning at sixty-nine. They drive in companionable silence for a few minutes, then Tony shifts and sets the air conditioning to seventy. Ten minutes pass, then; “Maybe that’s too warm,” Tony mutters to himself and sets it to sixty-eight.

“Jesus, Tony!” Rhodey says, too loud. There’s a snort and a sniff from the back seat. Rhodey looks over his shoulder and sure enough Peter the intern is blinking sleepily back at him. When he looks to Tony he’s glaring at him, but Rhodey just shrugs his shoulders and puts on his best  _ I’m innocent _ face.

“Hey, buddy, how are you doing?” Tony asks, watching Peter in the rear view. As soon as he lays eyes on the kid the glare melts away to be replaced with a gently worried expression. He gets this soft, mushy look in his eyes, and his crow’s feet deepen as he smiles gently. Rhodey has never seen that look on his face, but he decides that it’s a good look on him. Clearly this kid means a lot to Tony. 

“I’m fine, Mister Stark,” the kid obviously lies — or tries to lie — he starts coughing and spluttering halfway through.

Tony reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a juice box and a candy bar. Tony is watching the road but Rhodey is watching Tony — that glove compartment is ridiculously well stocked; juice boxes, water bottles, candy bars, animal crackers, protein bars and a Spongebob-themed first aid kit.

Tony holds the juice box and candy bar up between the seats within the kid’s reach. With some difficulty Peter extracts first one arm and then the other from under the blanket — Tony must have had him wrapped up real tight — and takes the offered items. He goes to eat the candy bar but Tony hears the wrapper rustle and pipes up, “Juice first,” and the kid rolls his eyes a little but he drinks, slurping the juice through the straw.

Tony gives Rhodey the side eye as he reaches for the glove compartment and pulls out a juice box and bag of animal crackers for himself. He looks Tony in the eye, daring him to say anything. “ _ Tropical Thunder _ , really?” He turns the juice box in his hand so the front (and the cartoon of Thor with luxurious, long, yellow hair and a garish Hawaiian shirt) is facing Tony.

Tony shrugs. “What can I say? The kid’s a big fan.”

“ _Mister_ _Stark_ ,” Peter whines, half mumbling, his cheeks going red. Tony grins. “Don’t embarrass me in front of War Machine, oh my god.”

Rhodey chuckles and is about to bite into an animal cracker when Tony says to him, “Juice first.”

Rhodey laughs and eats his cracker anyway because he’s a rebel. He shakes his head. “Not cut out to be a dad  _ my ass _ .”


	2. presentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked, and now you shall receive...
> 
> (A couple of people have pointed out that Peter is not a Millennial but a Gen Z kid. I did like Tony's line about it so I've kept it but I have still fixed my error - how, you ask? Writer magic. Also I feel old now.)

Rhodey doesn’t register the car rolling to a stop, wrapped up as he is in his own misery, so all the warning he gets is the chipper, “Morning, Mister Stark!” from just outside the door before it’s flung open and in scrambles Peter Parker, Tony’s annoyingly young and healthy intern.

“Morning, kid,” Tony replies immediately, and warmth softens his voice. Rhodey doesn’t have to look to know that there’s a dumb smile on his face.

“Morning, Mister Rhodey!”

Rhodey just grunts, his throat too sore for the speaking thing right now. He digs in his coat pocket for a throat lozenge, and it brings him sweet, honey-flavoured relief. While rummaging for his box of lozenges, Rhodey had expected Tony to drive off, but he hasn’t — in the back seat, Peter has stilled. Rhodey looks up and finds Tony staring at him too — both of them have identical expressions of concern on their faces.

“I’m fine, guys,” Rhodey says, like it’s an inconvenience that they even have to _think_ about asking — but his voice is raspy, and damn, talking _hurts_. He winces, sucks on his lozenge.

They’re both squinting at him now, heads slightly tilted, mirrors of each other — _like they’re father and son_ , Rhodey’s addled mind supplies. The car hasn’t moved since Peter got in and Rhodey decides to focus on that instead, just to make them stop looking at him like that.

“Aren’t we supposed to, I don’t know, be _going somewhere?_ ” He gets the sentence out, but it costs him — he swirls the lozenge on his tongue, holds back the sigh of relief so Tony and his kid don’t have any more ammo against him.

Tony and _his kid?_ Jesus.

“Seatbelt,” Tony says, flat.

“Huh?” says Peter.

“Seatbelt,” Tony repeats in the same tone.

“Oh! Sorry.”

Tony waits until there’s an audible click from the back seat before they set off into the morning rush hour traffic. Going is slow, and Rhodey takes the opportunity to close his eyes. He’s just resting them — he’s _not_ sleeping — but Tony and Peter seem to think he is.

There’s the sound of rustling fabric, then Peter tapping Tony’s shoulder. “Mister Stark?” Peter asks, keeping his voice low.

Tony’s reply is delayed — no doubt he looks over to check that Rhodey is asleep before he says anything. “Yeah?”

“What happened to Mister Rhodey? Is he okay?”

“Ah,” Tony says, hushed. “Remember last week, when I had to pick you up from school cos you were sick? Yeah. Well I kinda left Rhodey standing in the cold for too long and you’re a millennial, so you won’t understand, but he’s really old and delicate and he’s, well, he’s got distemper.”

Rhodey drops the pretense, splutters, “I _do not!_ ”

Tony clicks his tongue, looks too damn smug. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t asleep.”

“I hate you,” he mutters with no real heat, rubbing his throat — the honey lozenge a beautiful, distant memory. Rhodey can hear giggling coming from the back seat. He’s too tired and stiff to turn around. “Hey, kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

The sniggering dies down, then, a few minutes later, because peace and quiet is too much to ask — “What are you doing today, Mister Stark?”

“Rhodey and I have a big, big day today, don’t we, buddy?” Tony says, patting Rhodey’s knee. Rhodey squints at him. “I made these bad boys —” Tony taps one of Rhodey’s leg braces with his finger, “and thought hey, we could help people with these — wounded soldiers for a start, but one day hospitals too, so anyone who needed them could have access to a set. We’ve got a trunk full of prototype exoskeletons to show to some big cheeses in the government — I kind of fell out with a lot of them circa 2008, but I was hoping that my living demonstration would help me out, but he’s a bit of a zombie today, so I think I’ll leave him in the car.”

“Like _hell_ ,” Rhodey croaks.

“I’ll leave the window rolled down a crack.”

“No, I’m comin’ in. This is _important_ , Tony,” Rhodey insists, and his tone is serious — he owes this to his colleagues, to every man or woman who chooses to wear the uniform and give their all in defense of their country. “I’m comin’.”

Tony nods, understanding.

Peter and Tony start chattering and Rhodey tunes them out, and he’s not one hundred percent sure he doesn’t doze off, because the next thing he knows is that they’re stopping at a temporary red light — they’re laying new gas pipes under the road.

“Road work ahead?” Peter pipes up, oddly expectant.

Rhodey’s about to reply and point out the obvious — _Yeah, they’re laying pipes_ — when Tony says dramatically, “I sure hope it does.”

Rhodey’s confused, but Peter bursts out laughing. Tony looks in the rear view mirror and only when he sees Peter’s reaction and how happy he is does he chuckle too.

“What the hell?” Rhodey breathes, mostly to himself, but Tony hears him.

“It’s a Vine,” Tony ‘explains’ with a shrug, like this clears everything up and Rhodey should be impressed. “I speak Millennial.”

“I don’t,” he says simply.

“I'm not a Millennial, Mister Stark. I'm Gen Z.”

“Gesundheit.”

“I send him Vines sometimes,” Peter tries, and nope, Rhodey still doesn’t have a clue what they’re talking about. “I could send you some if you’d like.”

“Um, Rhodey only has a landline, he doesn’t understand cell phones...”

“No thanks,” Rhodey says, addressing Peter and ignoring Tony. “You two keep talking about Tarzan or whatever, some of us need a drink.”

They pull up outside Peter’s school ten minutes later, just as Rhodey is finishing his _Tropical Thunder_ juice box. Peter unhooks his seatbelt, hand on the door handle, when Tony says, “Wait!”

“Juice.” Tony casually throws a juice box over his shoulder — Peter catches it surprisingly easily. “Protein.” A protein bar goes flying, gets caught one-handed. “Animals.” Peter notices Rhodey watching, fumbles the catch this time, but Rhodey isn’t fooled — there’s _something_ about this kid... “My love and support,” Tony finishes, and mimes throwing something over his shoulder.

Peter pretends to catch something, smiles and holds it close to his chest. “Got it.”

“Good kid,” Tony says fondly as Peter climbs out of the car. “Have a nice day!”

“You too, Mister Stark!” he shouts, half walking backwards as he waves at them. “Bye, Mister Rhodey! G.W.S.”

“It means ‘get well soon’,” Tony translates with a fond smile on his face, watching as Peter walks into the school with another kid, already talking animatedly to each other.

“You two are real sweet,” Rhodey deadpans. “I’m gonna need a new dental plan.”


	3. breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alice_not_in_Wonderland called Tony's collection of juice and snacks his Peter Kit so I've called it that here because I love it!
> 
> I've never had a response like this to a story before, so thanks to each and every one of you for reading and commenting, leaving kudos and bookmarking! It means a lot. :)

Rhodey remembers when they were both at MIT, when he and Tony would go out for breakfast to a nice local café, both nursing hangovers. Then later, when Tony was nursing a hangover and Rhodey was pissed so he’d order the biggest, greasiest fried breakfast on the menu. Later still, when Rhodey was about to ship out on a tour — the fact that he may not come back heavy between them. After Tony had spent three months in a cave, after Tony was Iron Man and Rhodey was War Machine, after Tony’s surgery, after Rhodey fell from the sky, always after, because the morning always comes and you’ve gotta dust yourself off and get back in the game.

They’re going out for breakfast today — it’s a normal thing, like a tradition, something they’ve determinedly continued to do even as the other aspects of their lives have gotten increasingly bizarre. Gods, aliens — and now, Tony being a soccer mom.

Tony’s Audi pulls up next to the kerb and Rhodey gets in — he’s not as graceful as he used to be, not with these leg braces. Peter’s in the back seat already.

“Hey, kid,” Rhodey says as he fastens his seatbelt.

“Morning, Mister Rhodey!” Peter’s always so chipper in the mornings. He’s already got a  _ Tropical Thunder _ juice box in his hand so maybe it’s the sugar making him bounce.

“How’d you get on with your algebra test?” Rhodey asks conversationally.

“Hello, Tony, how are you today, I’m fine, thank you,” Tony mutters to himself, pulling out into traffic.

Rhodey grins and ignores him.

“You remembered?” Peter sounds surprised — Rhodey hears him breathe out a little, “Wow.” Rhodey can understand why Tony likes this kid so much. Peter clears his throat, says a bit louder, like it’s nothing important, “I, uh, I got an A.”

Rhodey chuckles. “Nice one, Pete,” he says, and he has no trouble imagining Peter shrinking at the praise. He holds his fist up between the front seats. Hesitantly, Peter bumps it.

“Thanks, Mister Rhodey,” Peter says, and there’s a pleased note in his voice.

Rhodey nods to himself, satisfied with a job well done. Encourage the youth, check.

“I passed my algebra too,” Tony pipes up petulantly, holding his fist up in Rhodey’s face.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thirty years ago. I ain’t fist-bumping you for that.”

Tony reels back, mock offended. He puts his previously fisted hand to his chest. “I’m hurt,” he says, lifting his chin up haughtily.

Rhodey just gives him a look and when Tony glances over a moment later, his chin still held high, he bursts out laughing. Peter giggles too and the mirth in the atmosphere is so infectious, Rhodey joins in — and then they’re all laughing, Tony wiping tears from his eyes as he tries to concentrate on where he’s going.

Rhodey doesn’t notice that Peter isn’t laughing anymore until he hears an exclamation from the back seat; “Oh my god, Tony, look!”

Tony’s already looking in the rear view mirror, laughter forgotten at the urgency in Peter’s voice. Rhodey twists around to see Peter — the kid’s pointing at the sidewalk and Rhodey follows his finger. All he sees is a row of parked cars between the Audi and the sidewalk, then he registers someone running — running fast, weaving between startled pedestrians, wearing dark clothes. A masked man. He’s got something orange in his hand.

“Tony!” Rhodey shouts and Tony’s attention snaps back to the road and he slams his foot on the brake pedal — Tony was so busy watching the man that he almost didn’t stop for the red light.

Rhodey exhales at the close call as a crowd of people start crossing the road in front of them.

“I’ve gotta go!” Peter announces, opening the back door and jumping out, taking off after the man at a sprint.

“Pete, wait!” Tony yells but it’s too late — the back door slams and Peter’s gone. Tony turns to Rhodey. “Go after him.”

Rhodey blinks. “What?”

“He’s just a — he’s just a kid. I’ll park the car and come find you,” Tony says, talking fast. “Rhodey,  _ please _ .”

It’s not the car horns honking at them to  _ move already, the light’s green _ — it’s the look of genuine fear in Tony’s eyes, the helpless little please, that has Rhodey saying, “Okay.”

Tony nods imperceptibly, lets out a shaky breath. Rhodey loves the Tony he sees when the kid’s with him, the affect the kid has had on his friend, the tenderness, the care, the damn Peter Kit in the glove box — but this? He  _ hates _ this.

Mindful of oncoming traffic, he cautiously opens the door and gets out, crosses around the front of the Audi to a chorus of car horns and angry shouting from the drivers behind Tony. He ignores it all. Once Rhodey’s clear, Tony guns it.

Rhodey may not be able to run with these leg braces but he can move pretty fast, yet he still feels like he’s taking too long. Tony’s fear seems to be as contagious as his laughter had been just minutes before — Rhodey’s heart races, spurs him on. He knows which way Peter and the masked man went so he just keeps going as fast as he can. Some people have stopped to talk amongst themselves. “Did you see that boy chasing that thief?” they say, and it reassures Rhodey that he is going in the right direction.

Rhodey’s panting from effort when he hears shouting coming from a nearby alley and peers into it, fists up and ready for a fight — there’s a dumpster with a bag of trash next to it. A spooked cat runs past his feet. At the far end the masked man is lying on his stomach, breathing heavily, some sort of spider’s web extending out from between his shoulder blades to the ground, pinning him down. He’s squirming, cursing a blue streak — the web thing creaks wetly but holds firm.

Peter emerges from behind the dumpster with an orange purse in his hand and something balled up and red in the other, his hair in disarray. Rhodey breathes out a sigh of relief, his breathing coming back under control, and notes with mild annoyance that Peter isn’t even breathless from his high-speed chase.

Peter startles when he spots Rhodey. “Mist — Mister Rhodey!”

Rhodey crosses his arms. “Peter,” he says coolly, and even though he has no idea what happened here he is about to give one hell of a lecture to this kid for scaring Tony (and him, yeah, he’ll admit it) like that.

Rhodey opens his mouth to begin when Peter suddenly points at something on the roof above Rhodey’s head and shouts, “Look! It’s Spider-Man!”  Rhodey twists to see, but by the time he does there’s nothing there.

He turns back in time to see Peter stuffing the balled up piece of red fabric into his pocket.

Rhodey’s not impressed. “What was that?” he asks.

“What was what?” Peter asks in return, all innocent, but his voice cracks slightly on the final word.

Rhodey points in the vague direction of Peter’s pocket. “That red thing you just shoved in your pocket behind my back.”

Peter pats the tell-tale bulge in his hoodie. “Oh, this? This is — this is a beanie.”

Rhodey’s tone is flat. “A beanie?”

“Yeah, a beanie. My — my ears, they, uh, get cold when I run.”

Peter seems to hear something, and then Rhodey hears it too — Tony calling their names.

“Over here!” Rhodey shouts, his eyes narrowed at Peter, the message clear:  _ this isn’t over _ . Peter gulps, and Rhodey doesn’t fail to notice that the kid sags in relief when Tony arrives. Tony’s on the cusp of hyperventilating.

“Pete?” he breathes, then he sees Peter and his shoulders relax. “Oh, thank god.” He puts one hand on Rhodey’s shoulder and bends over, catching his breath.

Peter waits, still holding the orange purse, wringing his hands nervously. The masked man has gone quiet, presumably resigned to his capture. Tony straightens but keeps his hand on Rhodey’s shoulder, squeezing a gentle  _ thank you _ . “Don’t  _ ever _ do that to me again, Pete, I’m serious. I have a heart condition.”

Peter nods, looking guilty. Rhodey’s surprised when Tony doesn’t ask him to promise and Peter doesn’t offer to.

Tony releases Rhodey’s shoulder, stepping forward, eyes raking over Peter. “Now, down to business — you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mister Stark, he didn’t touch me. Spider-Man got him before I could.”

“Oh, is that so?” Tony says and there’s something in his tone that Rhodey can’t decipher. “It’s lucky he was here, then.”

Tony closes the distance between them, wraps his arms around Peter and he responds immediately, the orange purse bumping on Tony’s back as he throws his arms around Tony’s waist. Tony whispers something into the kid’s ear that his him nodding solemnly, and then something that makes him smile. Rhodey looks away, giving them some semblance of privacy.

“Let’s go,” Tony says lightly, and walks past Rhodey with the kid under his arm — likely more for his own comfort than for Peter’s. Rhodey looks over at the masked man — the orange purse is sitting on his back, rising up and down rhythmically with each breath.

“But what about —?” Rhodey starts to ask, but Tony waves vaguely.

“It’s taken care of. I called 911.”

Sure enough Rhodey can hear sirens approaching.

“Alright, fine, but for breakfast I’m ordering something big and greasy.”

Tony chuckles, nods at him over Peter’s head — message received.


	4. physical therapy

Rhodey sits on a bench, his back to a park, and thinks that it’s a beautiful morning to be alive. The sun is rising, streaks of golden light slipping between the buildings. He’s watching the pigeons on the sidewalk as they waddle along, heads bobbing in time to their steps. He can hear runners and dog-walkers as they pass by behind him.

One of the pigeons, a mottled brown one, comes over to peck at Rhodey’s sneakers. He waggles his foot and still it persists. “Shoo,” he hisses, waving his arms at it. It flaps its wings and jumps back a few inches, but a moment later it’s pecking him again. Rhodey’s lips form a half-smile and he points at the persistent bird. “I’m calling you Tony.”

Real Tony’s late this morning — it’s something Rhodey got used to a long time ago, and on a morning like this Rhodey wouldn’t mind too much, yet he finds that he doesn’t want Peter to be late for school. He’s not even that close to the kid, but he does care. He’s got this innocence to him, it’s bringing out Rhodey’s fatherly instincts. He’s just too damned likeable and Rhodey must be going soft in his old age because he points at another pigeon, standing a little ways away from Pigeon Tony, smaller and with a few feathers out of place, and announces to it, “You’re Peter.”

Pigeon Tony and Pigeon Peter keep Rhodey entertained for several more minutes before a familiar car shows up — not the orange Audi Rhodey was expecting, but Happy’s sleek black sedan. Rhodey gets up from his bench and his new friends quickly step away. He waves a fleeting goodbye to them before carefully crossing the street to Happy’s car.

The passenger side window rolls down, Rhodey’s reflection on the glass sliding from view to reveal Tony. He looks tired, nursing a takeaway coffee. “Sorry, Rhodey, it’s the booster seat in the back for you today,” he says, not really sounding sorry.

“Hilarious,” Rhodey replies flatly, opening the back door — to his surprise, that seat’s taken too.

There’s a strange kid in the back seat, holding animal crackers and a juice box, staring up at Rhodey with wide eyes and a slack jaw — either Peter has gained a few pounds and changed race, or this isn’t him. 

At the sight of Rhodey the kid freezes mid-munch, squeezes the juice box until a drop of yellow liquid escapes from the top of the straw. “Oh my god,” he breathes.

“Hi,” Rhodey says.

“Hi,” the kid replies with a nervous giggle, still blatantly staring.

“Ned,” Peter grumbles, unseen from where Rhodey’s standing. A hand appears and starts tugging on Ned’s arm. “Come on, Ned, move over to let Mister Rhodey in.”

Ned visibly shakes himself, stutters, “Oh, right yeah, sorry, War Patriot — Iron Machine — erm, I mean, Colonel Rhodes.” Rhodey waits patiently as Ned collects his backpack from the middle seat and slides over to sit there himself. Rhodey gets in, taking up the vacated seat, and leans forward so he’s saying into Tony’s ear, “Dude, where are you getting all these kids from?”

“Buckle up,” Happy announces before Tony can reply, and unlike Tony he doesn’t wait until seat belts are actually on before he sets the car into motion. Rhodey slides back on the leather until the back of the seat stops him.

“You’re usually more polite than this,” Rhodey points out, belatedly clicking his seat belt into place.

Happy grunts, a distinctly not happy sound — it’s probably something to do with the digital clock on the dash that reads 7:51 AM. “Yeah? Well you try wrangling two actual kids and a grown-up kid at six in the morning, see how it leaves you.”

“Hey!” Tony protests, but it’s half-hearted.

“We had a sleepover at the Compound,” Ned speaks up, as if this explains why everyone is so tightly wound this morning. “We had to get on the road early cos the Compound is so far away, you know? Who am I kidding, of course you know! You’re War Machine! You’re such a badass if I may say so, your highness — er, I mean — sir.”

Rhodey’s brain scrambles to catch up with the barrage of words. “Okay, but who are you?”

The bluntness doesn’t phase Ned. “Oh! Sorry. I’m Ned, Peter’s friend,” he says, holding out a hand for Rhodey to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Ned,” Rhodey replies, taking Ned’s hand and giving it a firm shake — Ned tries to act cool but he starts to breathe a little too fast. “You been to the Compound before?”

Ned shakes his head. “No, it was my first time. It’s so awesome there! Mister Stark has all the best tech, it’s incredible! We watched movies, had pizza, played — experimented, I mean, cos we’re not kids who play with things, duh — in the lab, and then we studied for our geography tests today, didn’t we, Pete?”

“Yeah,” Peter replies, carefully munching on a protein bar Rhodey recognises as one from Tony’s stash.

For the first time since he got into the car, Rhodey takes a proper look at Peter. He hasn’t seen Peter since he ran off in pursuit of a petty criminal in broad daylight and then had the audacity to lie to Rhodey’s face. He’s biting his lip, nervous — he’s trapped, squished in between the car door and Ned. The bags under his eyes match Ned’s and Tony’s — Tony is practically radiating exhaustion, but then he’s not as young as he used to be.

“Tony study with you guys too?” Rhodey asks, his mind already painting a picture for him.

“I know more about drainage basins now than I ever wanted to,” Tony says, sipping his coffee.

“Really?” Rhodey asks, hardly believing that this is what has become of his often irresponsible, erratic friend — staying up most of the night with two kids to help them study for a geography test. He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t buy it.”

Hearing that as a challenge, Peter sits up and leans forward in his seat. “Hey, Mister Stark, what’s a confluence?” he asks.

“Where two rivers or streams meet,” Tony answers easily.

“A kettlehole?”

“That’s a hollow caused by glaciers melting.”

“Son of a bitch,” Rhodey mutters, impressed.

“I’ve got one. What’s a blowout depression?” Ned prompts.

“How I spent the nineties,” Tony replies lightly. Happy snorts.

After Tony’s attempt at humour there’s a lull in the conversation. Happy expertly navigates them through traffic. Peter and Rhodey take turns getting squished against the doors as Happy rounds corners a bit too fast and the car leans.

It’s on a corner — with the car leaning into a turn and Peter getting squished, Rhodey pressed against Ned — that Rhodey notices something dangling from the zipper on Ned’s backpack. He reaches out with his hand to steady it as it sways with the car’s movement. It’s a blue and red disc with a spider web pattern overlaid, and two white shapes that resemble Spider-Man’s eyes.

“You like Spider-Man, Ned?” Rhodey asks, carefully casual.

Ned looks down at his keyring, glances for a split second at Peter. “Oh yeah! He’s so badass.”

“Did you see that robbery he stopped last week? That was some serious firepower he was up against but he made it out without a scratch. Amazing.”

As he talks Rhodey is watching Peter’s reactions. He subconsciously rubs at his arm, eyes far away as he looks out the window. He has his hand on the handle above his head, but his grip slips — sweaty palms equal anxiety.  _ Gotcha _ , Rhodey thinks.

“Hey, Peter, you okay over there?”

Tony isn’t hiding the fact that he’s listening in. He twists his head to check on Peter at Rhodey's words. “You alright back there, bud?”

Peter's attention snaps back to the people inside the car — he looks at Tony first, then Ned and Rhodey, avoiding Rhodey’s eyes. “Huh? I'm fine,” he says, and the response is automatic. He clears his throat, goes on, “I’m just — just nervous about the geography test today. It’s quite important. It means a lot to our final grade.”

“Right,” says Rhodey. “We were just talking about Spider-Man. Do you like him?”

Peter stammers. “He’s — he’s okay, I guess.”

“Okay? He’s the best!” Ned says with absolute conviction and Peter ducks his head, a slight hint of rose to his cheeks. Then Ned blinks and seems to remember his present company. “Except for War Machine and Iron Man of course,” he tacks on, finishing with a lame chuckle. 

“But you know who Iron Man and War Machine are — they’re people,” Rhodey presses, trying not to grin at Peter’s reaction. “But what if Spider-Man’s an alien? There’s no way an ordinary person could climb buildings like that. He must have tentacles with suckers under that suit — if it even  _ is _ a suit.”

“Ew, that’s gross,” Ned says.

“You got something against tentacles, Ned?” Rhodey challenges with a raised eyebrow.

Before Rhodey can have any more fun, Happy pulls up at the school. According to the car’s clock it’s 8:13 AM — Happy made good time and Peter and Ned are only slightly late for school.

“Good luck with your test, kids,” Tony says. Having already fed them this morning, Tony just ‘tosses’ his love and support over his shoulder for Peter to ‘catch’ — but Peter’s distracted enough that he forgets to play along. Tony sighs. “Okay, my love and support just hit you in the face, Pete.” He twists around in his seat with a little grunt to look Peter in the eye. “You’ll do great, okay. I  _ know _ it.” There’s no hint of doubt in his tone and Peter nods.

“Thanks, Mister Stark,” he says and musters up a little smile. Ned squeezes Peter’s shoulder.

“Hey, kids,” Happy pipes up and everyone looks at him. “Stop giving each other mushy looks and get out of the car, you’re late for school. Move it!”

“Sorry, Happy,” Peter says, gathering his backpack and opening the door.

“And you’re going to ace your test, right?”

“Yes, Happy.”

“Good kid, off you go.”

Rhodey doesn’t fail to notice the fondness in Happy’s eyes as he looks in the rear view mirror at Peter.  _ You too, huh? _

“Thanks for the lift, Mister Happy,” Ned adds and he scooches over to the door.

“Good luck with your test, too, Ned,” Tony says. “Don’t meander.”

“Thanks, Mister Stark, I won’t.” With a final grin, Ned joins Peter and together they jog up the steps to the school door, disappearing inside.

As soon as they’re gone, Tony asks, “When did you work it out?”

“What, the obvious fact that Peter is Spider-Man? Uh, almost as soon as he tried to lie about it. Frankly, I’m insulted that you didn’t just tell me. Pigeon Tony would have treated me with more respect.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell — wait, what?”

Rhodey grins. “My physical therapist’s office, please, Happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr! tonyuhstark.tumblr.com


End file.
